


to be sure of you

by weepingalpacafuneral



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aromantic Clint Barton, Canon Disabled Character, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton's Tenants, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Elektra Natchios Lives, F/F, Minor Kate Bishop/America Chavez, Multi, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse, an actual discussion about the ramifications of SHIELD work for nat and clint, clint is a comfort character ok?, elektra is a good character as a foil for matt and i will die angry about how they treated her, elektra is knife gay culture, hey yall nat actually suffers from ptsd and a shitty romance with the hulk wont help, im a sucker for elektra/nat, im sorry about the tags yall, nat can have a little bit of gay. as a treat, natasha romanov gets a character arc NOT CLICKBAIT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25988155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingalpacafuneral/pseuds/weepingalpacafuneral
Summary: Natasha Romanov is not a monolith, or a robot.Clint Barton is pretty shit at life.Sometimes you (in Nat's case) end up fleeing the country and sharing an extremely emotional moment with your friend's sister/ex after which she disappears.Sometimes (in Clint's case) you abruptly break up with your girlfriend of several years because she's considering marriage and move across the country for the second time in two years and end up owning a dog and an apartment building in the process.Wherein exSHIELD people get to come to terms with a lot of things, and maybe date some assassins along the way.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Kate Bishop, Clint Barton & Lucky, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Elektra Natchios/Natasha Romanov, past Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse - Relationship
Kudos: 4





	1. Natasha

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings:
> 
> Discussions of dubiously consensual situations that a female character was put into as part of an undercover job.  
> A scene of said female character engaging in a similar situation where sexual behavior she was not comfortable with/consenting to began. The behavior does not escalate and the character leaves the situation.
> 
> Discussion of scars and wounds, some of which resulted from torture, which is briefly mentioned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha, Japan, and some self reflection. And some emotional vulnerability, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings:
> 
> Discussions of dubiously consensual situations that a female character was put into as part of an undercover job.  
> A scene of said female character engaging in a similar situation where sexual behavior she was not comfortable with/consenting to began. The behavior does not escalate and the character leaves the situation.
> 
> Discussion of scars and wounds, some of which resulted from torture, which is briefly mentioned.

She has the info before she even walks into the drop. It's what she does. It's what Agent Romanov does, more accurately. Agent Romanov isn't technically here anymore, though; aiding alleged war criminals and having your employer explode into a bunch of Nazis in a trench coat doesn't do wonders for one's resume as an intelligence operative.

Clint tried to convince her after SHIELD/HYDRA was first calming down that they didn't need SHIELD's sanction, that they could work with Tony, and the Avengers. 

Then he fucked off to California to train a teenage girl to be Hawkeye. It wasn't wholly inaccurate to say that they had grown apart. They had grown as far as pathologically dependent people bonded by extreme shared traumas can grow apart.

This was a favor to him, after all. Natasha Romanov does not wear evening gowns for many people, and she will go into operations blind for even fewer people. She didn't even see the point, really. New York Yakuza and California Yakuza didn't have *that* much in common. And both she and Clint had the connections, if he really wanted to know something about the Yakuza anywhere in the world, he would have asked Logan. Clint hadn't, though, so she was sitting at an impressively upholstered leather bar that was incredibly uncomfortable against her exposed skin in her evening gown. Sweaty. Like the banker leering over her shoulder, offering a martini and some oysters. Natasha hadn't ever eaten oysters before an undercover job, almost the same as this one, but with a little more classic black widow action where her superiors would pretend that they weren't having her have sex she didn't entirely consent to for the job, and everyone would look the other way when investigating how exactly her mark turned up dead. Because of course, classic black widow action, with the actual spiders, involves dubiously consensual sex work.

She smiled at the banker anyways, leaning in to hear whatever filth he was trying to whisper into her ear. She learned to block that out a long time ago.

She had cloned his cellphone five minutes ago, planted a tracer, all routine. She could have left, but that wouldn't have been authentic enough. She needed contact with the mark for confirmation.

She let him breathe his hot sticky breath on her ear and she smiled the perfect doll smile the Red Room prided itself on, and she blinked the American way that Bobbi Morse had taught her at SHIELD, and she didn't hear anything.

She still feels it, though, when his hand inches farther onto her thigh, almost up through the thigh split of the dress. 

She grabs the glass he had offered her a drink in and slams it into his neck, right against his carotid artery and she runs, as fast as she can.

\--

Two hours later, she's on a plane to Japan because it seems like the farthest she can get from New York. She sends Clint the info because she's a good operative. And a good friend, she supposes. 

Airports charge far too much for very cheap things. Even by American standards, airports charge far too much for anything. She only bought the least touristy sweatshirt available, and it cost nearly 30 dollars. Although, in retrospect, the sweatshirt she chose might have been more expensive by virtue of the fact that it was the least ostentatious choice.

She regrets not going to a safe house for more... nondescript clothes, but the liminality of the airport is soothing in a way that the trip back to a safe house would not be. So she wears her I heart New York shirt and she listens to the audiobooks Sam said she would like in the window seat of her red eye flight.

\--

She arrives in Tokyo to no affair, and finds her safe house as she left it, a small, untouched apartment overlooking the Arakawa River, and she sleeps. She doesn't remember her dreams, if she has any at all.

\--

She wakes up to an apartment brighter than she remembers and the smell of brewing coffee. Good coffee, not the shitty stuff Clint makes, or the nondescript generic brand Bruce favors.

She's glad she wore a shirt to sleep. 

Greeting the queen of the Hand, and Yakuza, depending on who you ask, without a shirt on would be awkward enough.

Elektra greets her with a measured appraisal, raising her eyebrow at Natasha's chosen sleepwear.

"You know, I've always preferred silk, myself."

Natasha doesn't answer, and instead arranges her blanket around herself as more of a covering, pulling the bottom edges into her legs, which she crosses, and draping the top corners over her shoulders before grabbing onto the very most corner of the blankets' top corners and grabbing them, letting her arms hang, weighing the top of the blanket down over her torso.

Elektra again raises an eyebrow.

"Don't be modest on my account." She smiles, just a bit too sharp. "I was quite enjoying the show."

Natasha sits, focusing on the weight of the blanket's tension on her arms and waits for her to leave.

She doesn't.

Instead, she walks over to an end table, setting her mug of coffee down on a coaster she produced from nowhere. Leaning against the wall, she again appraises Natasha with a more curious gaze.

"What are we doing here, little arachnid? Handlers not treating you well?" She punctates her last words by standing once more and striding around to the side of the bed to look at Natasha directly.

"If you wanted some more fun jobs, you could have just asked." Elektra bats her eyes innocently.

"I know Fury doesn't like his attack dogs on too long of a leash." She pauses to blink at Natasha slowly. "That is, if he's still alive to set you to attack."

Natasha flinches, a little, and it's noticeable more in the stiffness she belies as a result of trying to control her reaction.

"I'm doing just fine on my own. SHIELD was a nice job, but I wouldn't have sunk it if I needed it that much."

Elektra glances at her, unconvinced.

"A little birdie made some noise about the New York Yakuza." Natasha meets her gaze blankly. "And I heard that a little spider showed up to help. And that she left... less than conspicuously."

Natasha can feel her reaction coming, but just like last time, the stiffness that counteracts her grimace is far too noticeable.

"Spider having trouble in her web?" Elektra's voice was a few steps below mocking, sing song and full of false innocence.

She starts breathing very quietly. In, out. In, out. Breathe, Natasha. Breathe. They can't get you if you keep breathing, Natalia, that's the most advice you'll ever get here. The Red Room needs blood, and if you breathe, your blood will keep going. Chin up, Natalia. You'll learn. Just breathe. Breathe.

She's startled from her reverie by snaps echoing from well manicured but calloused hands, and she's back in her Tokyo safehouse, with Elektra Nactiosos in front of her.

//Are you ok?//

//Why are you speaking in Russian?//

//You zoned out and were mumbling Russian.//

"Oh."

"My Russian is truly terrible, I do apologize for that."

"It's fine."

Elektra relaxes lightly onto the bed, sitting next to Natasha but leaving a decent amount of space. "Bad memories?" She pauses, trying to find words. "From..." She trails off, rubbing her collarbone, below which is a deep scar.

Natasha nods, and she curls her limbs into herself, holding her knees to her chest.

They sit like that in silence for a while until Natasha unwinds enough to fold her limbs out and back to where limbs normally are when one is sitting. She reaches out, and hovers her fingertips over the scar Elektra had touched.

Elektra answers before Natasha asks her question.

"Autopsy scars, technically." She traces the rough Y shape of an autopsy scar across her chest, almost a perversion of a Catholic crossing themself.

Natasha extends her left arm, showcasing a splotchy burn scar across the better part of her arm up till her shoulder. "Acid. HYDRA interrogation."

After a thought, she gently takes Elektra's hand on her scar, letting it rest on her forearm.

They slowly move together, hands acknowledging scars, feeling the person underneath. Then they're both in Natasha's bed, loosely embracing. Natasha's head is nestled in the crook of Elektra's neck when she finally speaks again.

"Back... back in New York. I couldn't do it. Be the Widow. He... he was touching me, and I couldn't, I just I couldn't-" She's cut off by Elektra pressing a kiss to her temple. 

"Arachne, you should have killed him. You still can."

"I don't kill people."

Elektra raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow and pulls back to look Natasha in the eye. "Captain America tell you that? The little playboy Stark? My idiot Matthew?" She takes a breath, almost as if to calm herself, as if she wasn't speaking deadly calm and precise. "Arachne, when you kill someone, you of all people, you have a fucking reason to do so." 

Natasha wants to do something, say something, but Elektra just cups her cheek lightly, traces the underside of her jaw and looks at her so lingeringly that she can't do any of the things she would if this was normal, if this was a job or a mission, and then Elektra takes her hand delicately, like she would break if she wasn't so careful, and she kisses the top of Natasha's hand, just barely grazes it with her lips.

"Arachne mou, you are braver than you believe." And Elektra was out the window she had come in through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nat, Elektra, and Clint will definitely meet up with other players in the Street Smarts verse at some point!
> 
> And yes, Elektra did quote Winnie the Pooh at her superspy crush after an incredibly emotionally vulnerable moment for both of them. She's just like that.


	2. Clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint time! 
> 
> The beginning of Matt Fraction's Hawkeye series recontextualized to fit my canon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings:  
> Canon typical violence for Hawkeye and in particular Matt Fraction's Hawkeye series.  
> An eviction is described, and it is later revealed that it did not occur.  
> Canon violence against an animal is described.

“And it’s just- it’s fucked, man, it really is and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, even-”

“You’re moving back across the country. After you moved across the country to help lead a superhero organization thing. Because your girlfriend, who by all means you have a great relationship with, wants to get married. And you’re in a superhero organization with her. And-”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not what, Clint.”

“I already bought a place.”

“Jesus Christ, Clint.”

“And we’re not.”

“Shit.”

“I don’t think we’re- Yeah. Shit is right, Katie Kat.” Clint looks down at the floor for the millionth time, but this time, he looks up at Kate again, making eye contact, even. “And you’re- you’re gonna stay?”

She gives him a sad look from where she’s leaning against the wall. “We had a nice thing, out here. With the West Coast Avengers. And I have America, and-”

He returns her gaze with the same melancholy. “I get it, Katie Kat. I do.”

“Do you, though? Because you and Bobbi were amazing, together, you really were, and I don’t really understand why- even how- this happened.”

Clint drops his gaze again. “Don’t.”

Kate raises her hands in surrender and shrugs. “Good luck. I’ll visit, yeah?”

“Course you will.” 

He hugs her on his way out the door, and when he looks back, he thinks about that bullshit about cool guys not looking at explosions. And how it’s not that much bullshit, because he isn’t a cool guy, and he sure as hell was looking back at the explosion.

\--

The apartment is shitty. The sort of shitty that welcomes Clint, that makes him feel ok with the certainty that the kitchen counter will absolutely house piles of old pizza boxes and beer cans.

It’s a shitty he’s comfortable with, because a life of foster homes and the circus and SHIELD sure as hell were at the best this level of shitty and at worst a whole lot worse.

The building is a shithole too. Kate would probably say that that’s what he gets for snapping up the first damn apartment he could find. Bobbi would have said that too.  
Nat would’ve- Nat would’ve stolen his beer and told him the apartment was perfect for him, being such a shithole.

It’s weird, for the first month or so. He doesn’t tell anyone he’s in New York, but he doesn’t really hide it either. He knows Tony knows he’s there, because his wifi got a hell of a lot better for no reason and he has cable now, for some reason. Steve and Bruce don’t make an appearance, so Clint figures they either don’t know or don’t care. And honestly, he doesn’t really care either. Nat is off the grid, apparently. Probably undercover, on a job, or something. He got a card from Pepper a couple weeks in, which was a nice, if hollow, gesture. 

His neighbors are assholes, and for the first time in a long time, Clint remembers how nice it is to be anonymous.

They even invite him to some roof barbecue thing, and he even goes. Simone from the third floor’s kids bother him the whole time and they bother him even more after he tries to distract them by shooting peas into Tito’s drink. 

\--

He doesn’t really do much, as far as Hawkeye goes.

He stops a mugging in mid July, and when he tells the muggee that he’s an Avenger he gets a “Wait really?”.

\--

The shithead owner of the building is raising the rent, again, and Clint knows because he’s holding Simone’s youngest while she cries on the curb trying to find a loophole in the eviction notice.

The shithead- Ivan the shithead, apparently- is fucking smiling, and Simone is crying and her baby is crying, and her other kids are crying now too, and goddamnit Clint would cry if he wasn’t so close to seeing red.

\--

The place is in the back of a Chinese restaurant, apparently, and a good one, good enough that the smell makes Clint wish he hadn’t gotten pizza from the place across the street. The rain is making the pizza all droopy, too. Chinese food doesn’t get droopy. 

“Can I pet your dog?”

The sweatsuit goon looks at Clint like that’s the stupidest question he’s heard since he had to decide what color of sweatsuit he thought would be most menacing.

“He bite, bro. Not a good idea.”

Clint takes a look at the droopy pizza and then he takes a look at the sweatsuit goon and then he takes a look at the dog.

“Who’s a good boy that likes pizza? You are, aren’t you pizza dog?”

He looks back up at sweatsuit goon.

“I don't know man, dog likes pizza, how bad can he be?”

Sweatsuit goon looks at Clint like that’s the stupidest question he’s heard since Clint asked him if he could pet Pizza Dog. Then he narrows his eyes and crosses his arms, standing up taller to look menacing.

“What you want here, bro? Feed dog?”

Clint just pulls the zipper of the duffel bag he’s carrying open.

He gives the pizza dog a pat on the head as he slips past sweatsuit goon into the building.

\--

Ivan the shithead building owner is at a table in the back playing something with chips and cards that’s probably poker, but Clint can’t really know for sure because he knows next to nothing about cards and even less than that about underground casinos where shithead building owners play cards with money they got by raising the rent by 300%.  
“Hey.”

“Bro, what?”

“I don’t play cards, really. I do spend money, though.” Clint throws the duffel bag down in the middle of the table. “Rent. For everyone in the building. Covers the markup- covers everything.”

“What are you, fairy godmother? This is lot of money.”

No shit, Sherlock. SHIELD paid well. Paid even better after it turned out to be a Nazi pinata and certain people didn’t want you to spill certain secrets.

And it’s not like he did anything with it.

Shithead Ivan smiles and Clint doesn’t want it to go the way it’s going, he really doesn’t.

“Maybe it not your place, to spend like this. Maybe we want empty building. Sell building, make more money.”

Shithead Ivan smiles even wider and Clint really doesn’t want this to go the way it’s going.

“So fuck you, bro. Don’t accept.”

“Wasn’t asking.”

It’s going the way it was headed, and Clint really wishes it wasn’t.

The slightly nicer looking sweatsuit goons sitting next to Shithead Ivan draw, and it’s close enough quarters that they'll just shoot each other, so it’s really just in his best interest to make a mess, get out while they’re distracted, and-

And someone hits him over the head with a bottle.  
\--

He gets out of the Chinese restaurant. He’s going to give it a shitty rating on Yelp when this all done, because he’s petty like that.

The sweatsuit goons and Ivan are coming out after him, and the sweatsuit goon with the dog that greeted him on his way in is looking at Clint and then at Ivan back and forth in confusion before he decides that he should probably be angry at Clint too, and now Clint has 4 people on him, and the guy on the left is drawing, and it’s what, 30 feet till something he can use as shelter, and-

And he’s too slow, and the guy on the left clips him in the upper arm, and he’s waiting for the second shot, but it doesn’t come, and the pizza dog is biting the guy’s arm, and the guy is swinging the pizza dog around, and Clint knows he should get the fuck out, but.

The guy throws Pizza Dog into the street, into oncoming traffic, and it’s raining, and the dog is too low for anyone driving to see.

He throws a coin into the cab’s window, because it’s the only thing he can think of, and the cab slows down. Not enough, and Clint can’t watch, he can’t watch.

\--

“Fix my dog.”

“Sir, I-”

“Fix my damn dog!”

\--

The veterinary clinic is a lot nicer than the Chinese restaurant.

An Indian man has his cat in his lap, and he’s cooing at her, and Clint wants to scream.

He feels bad for yelling at the receptionist.

\--

He’s napping in the stiff waiting area chair when Shithead Ivan and his sweatsuit goons show up.

“You mess up. You mess up bad-”

He feels a little foggy still, and he really just wishes that he could have had 15 more minutes of relative peace, but sure. 

“Sure, I don’t want any trouble-” 

He slams into sweatsuit goon #1 and knees him in the stomach, dropping him. Shithead Ivan is next and he only registers that he should maybe stop, say something, because the receptionist is yelling and the other people in the waiting room have jumped back.

“Don’t- Don’t worry. I’m an Avenger.”

The Indian guy who was cooing to his cat raises an eyebrow. “What, like Iron Fist?”

\--

Clint hails a taxi for shithead Ivan because he’s not a monster, he wouldn’t subject him to ambulance fees.

“What kind of Avenger does this? I broke no law. Allowed to raise rent. Know my rights.”

“Y’know the best part of being an Avenger? Captain America is there all the time. Guy really brings out the best in people. You want to be good when he’s around. You really do. Take a look around for me, will ya? Captain America ain’t fucking here.”

Clint pauses to stare at Shithead Ivan for intimidation and dramatic effect.

“I’m paying you what everyone owes, and for the building. Negotiations over. You wanted to sell? I’m buying.”

He closes the door of the cab and gives the driver a wad of cash and directions to JFK hospital.

\--

The vet gives him a run down of Pizza Dog’s injuries. Broken ribs, broken legs, lost an eye. The vet tells Clint he’s a damn lucky dog before he asks what his name is.

“Not my dog.” Clint pauses, for a bit. “What’s on the collar?”

The vet looks up. “Uhm- Arrow.”

Clint grunts, half a snort and half a laugh an half something else that’s probably his exaustion. “I’ll think of something better.”

\--  
“This is Kate Bishop, please leave a message after the beep.”

“Katie Kat, I got a building and a dog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope yall enjoyed! I am as always at weepingalpacafuneral on tumblr. Also as always, I will love you forever for kudos and especially comments.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'm at weepingalpacafuneral on tumblr!
> 
> This fic loosely belongs in the Street Smarts verse, which I'm still fleshing out and playing with a little bit.
> 
> Nat, Elektra, and Clint will definitely meet up with other players in the Street Smarts verse at some point!
> 
> And yes, Elektra did quote Winnie the Pooh at her superspy crush after an incredibly emotionally vulnerable moment for both of them. She's just like that.


End file.
